


Decree Absolute

by Mottlemoth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Facebook Drama, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mycroft To The Rescue, Newly Divorced, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 08:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottlemoth/pseuds/Mottlemoth
Summary: Mycroft Holmes has plenty of reason to celebrate. After a long year of waiting, his lover's messy divorce has been granted and all the secrecy can come to an end.





	Decree Absolute

Greg's messages - usually a happy and generous stream - had been a little sparse today.

Mycroft put it down to the strain of the legal formalities, and busied himself with other matters. There would be time to talk this evening.

There would be all the time to talk in the world.

In the moments he would have used to text Greg, he indulged himself instead in sartorial daydreams - what he would wear tonight. It was a monumental opportunity to impress, and Mycroft intended to do so. Something about Greg's recent attentions made him feel deliciously like a garnet red tie, though the shade did tend to catch on the touches of warmth in his hair.

And tonight, nothing at all should clash. It was very much to be an evening of togetherness.

The two of them, at last - Mycroft could barely believe it. The restaurant had been booked for a month and a half. He'd made the reservation as soon as the decree nisi had been granted, and the six week countdown had begun. He knew he'd been perhaps a little provocative in his choice of The Davenport… but the waiting was finally coming to a close.

And Mycroft had waited long enough.

It was to end, tonight, in style. He wanted to look his best.

They would be noticed, of course. It was guaranteed. As he walked into The Davenport with Greg this evening, a hundred pairs of eyes would fly immediately in their direction, and Mycroft would be ready for them. Their fellow diners would be a sample from London's most prominent and influential people, and every one of them would be gazing at his Greg - wondering, enthralled, who was this majestic specimen of dark-eyed masculinity; this twenty-first century adonis in the company of Mycroft Holmes. People were going to talk. Gossip was about to ignite, and all of it was magnificently true.

It was going to be the happiest evening of Mycroft's life.

By three PM, with all of this in mind, he'd settled on the old wisdom of playing to one's strengths. Mid-grey for the suit; deep teal for the accents. That striking, rather decadent interplay of the serious and the playful. Greg had been delighted the first time he'd arrived with a touch of teal in his outfit. Mycroft was very much looking forward to seeing that dark flash of admiration in his eyes once more - and seeing it in the faces of their audience, too.

Greg was planning to be in navy.

Teal and grey would blend nicely in that regard. Mycroft wasn't going to do anything so hideous as match their outfits - this wasn't Mills and Boon - but a certain harmonious coupling of their individual choices would be… rather _thematic,_ perhaps.

And rather beautiful.

By five PM, Mycroft found himself struggling to focus on work. He simply couldn't invoke the necessary care. It was a Friday, and Greg's entire weekend would belong to him - and every weekend to come. International relations were suddenly a pale and tiresome game, in the light of what this evening was about to usher in.

He left his assistant with strict instructions not to call unless civilisation as they knew it were on the very brink of collapse.

He then went home to change.

 

*

 

As the car coaxed to a halt outside Greg's flat, the front door opened with exquisite timing. Mycroft's heart heaved as Greg emerged into the night. He'd probably taken less than an hour to get ready - a clean shave, a shirt, a suit, and no doubt a touch of some evocative fragrance - and yet he looked like male beauty manifested into human form.

He was spectacular.

And from two PM this afternoon, he'd been Mycroft's - wholly, and without impediment.

As he stepped from the apartment block, blissfully unaware of his own appeal, Greg was studying his mobile phone.

The look on his face was enough to give Mycroft pause.

Whatever his lover was reading, it hadn't pleased him at all. Mycroft watched with a flicker of concern as Greg locked the front door, distracted, continuing to scroll with his thumb. Only as Greg dropped the key into the weekend bag he carried did he notice the waiting car, and there finally came some relief to his expression. He slid his phone away inside his jacket, and walked along the street.

Mycroft's driver got out to hold the door for him.

"Cheers, Andy…"

Mycroft's heart squeezed gently at the voice - the cheerfulness; the casual familiarity with the staff. Greg slid comfortably into the backseat, tugged the door shut, and then finally laid eyes on Mycroft.

His entire face opened in adoration.

"God… look at you," he breathed. "Just bloody look at you..."

He slid closer, and without hesitation took Mycroft's face into his tender hands. Mycroft's heart soared heavenward as Greg tilted his head, gently lifted his lips, and kissed them with the relief of long, _long_ months of waiting.

All the secrecy, all the subterfuge, was at an end. This was their first kiss in the light of freedom, Mycroft - their first free, unfettered kiss. He would remember it all of his life.

All the distress was over.

He was no longer a third party to a broken marriage; all those rotten ties were cut.

The affection had been severed long ago, unsustainable within the pain caused by her constant infidelity. Greg had suffered, dreadfully. The woman had no shame. A year ago now, his healing had begun in earnest in Mycroft's arms - and Mycroft had kept Greg safe for every moment of it. He'd guarded Greg's privacy as fiercely as his own. He'd waited, and he'd loved, and he'd dreamed of this moment, knowing it would come. The only thing it had taken was patience.

"I love you," Greg whispered against his mouth, as Mycroft's fingers brushed through his hair.

Mycroft's heart strained with desperate joy. "You are so dear to me," he breathed. He searched Greg's beautiful eyes - so dark, so full of love. "You are - _everything_ to me, darling. I adore you."

Greg's eyes burned into his, soft as the shadows all around.

"Yours," he whispered.

"Mine." Mycroft kissed him, closing his eyes tight - carding his fingers through that gorgeous grey hair. His heart leapt with happiness. _All mine. Mine, at last. My wonderful Greg._

Only the presence of Mycroft's driver kept them in control of themselves. With the greatest of reluctance, Mycroft left his lover go - tended to Greg's seat-belt, to Greg's amusement - and they set off into the night.

Greg's hand stole into his on the seat between them.

Mycroft gripped his fingers, so happy he could float away like a soap bubble.

Halfway to the restaurant, running through a casual summary of his day, Mycroft noted the reappearance of the phone. Greg was checking it quietly; unhappiness had settled over his expression once more.

Mycroft paused, uncertain. "Darling?"

Greg locked the phone, putting it away. His face softened in a smile. "M'here, love," he said. "What did the chancellor say when you told him? I bet he wasn't pleased, was he?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, no longer so interested in trading trivialities.

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

Greg paused for a moment. The honesty and the closeness between them opened up in his expression, and he smiled, rubbing Mycroft's hand.

"Just fuss," he said. "That's all. Nothing I shouldn't have expected."

It was code. Mycroft had learned it well over this year. 'Fuss' was _her_ domain, and she was good at it.

He'd imagined there would be some today. Karen Lestrade (who, it seemed, was intent on retaining her surname) was unlikely to let the occasion of her divorce go by without marking it in some demented fashion.

"I'm listening," Mycroft said. "Tell me, darling.... 'a problem shared'."

Greg smiled, somewhat quiet. He took a moment to piece the words together, his gaze heavy.

"It shouldn't bother me," he said at last. "And - in a way, it doesn't. It's over, and I'm free - and that's the best feeling in the world. Everything will fall into place. I just… I should have anticipated a parting shot, y'know? It still sharpens my teeth a bit."

"A parting shot?" Mycroft stroked his palm with a thumb, slowly. "Dare I ask?"

Greg looked down into his lap, repressing a sigh.

"Got a message from a friend," he said. "Kinda wish he hadn't told me, to be honest. Ignorance is bliss. Karen's apparently put something up on Facebook. Some message. How glad she is to be shut of me at long last - "

Mycroft snorted, unimpressed. For someone 'glad to be shut' of Greg, she had spent far too many hours sitting in a car outside the man's flat - left him far too many abusive and furious voicemails - issued far too many threats to cause herself physical harm if he didn't return to the marital home at once.

" - and... well…" Greg went on, "announcing her... new fiancé."

Mycroft's eyebrows arched towards his hair. "Fiancé?"

"Yeah," Greg muttered. "That's... what I thought, too."

"She put you through the misery of that hearing," Mycroft said, appalled, " - sat before a judge, claiming she'd never so much as let another man glimpse her ankle - and she has now within the space of six hours acquired herself a fiancé? How fascinating."

"It gets worse," Greg said, grimly. Mycroft lapsed into quiet despair. "Honestly, I don't care that there's someone else. I mean… nothing new, right? Nothing we couldn't have guessed. I don't even care that she's racing back up the aisle. Let her get on with it, frankly. It's just...  _Christ,_ she could have picked a better person. Literally _anyone_ else."

Mycroft's heart tightened. "Who is it?" he asked.

"Old mate of mine from Scotland Yard. He's called Paul. Well... I say a 'mate'..." Greg's expression worked for a moment. "M'sorry, love. This shouldn't be getting to me. Tonight, of all nights..."

"Go on," Mycroft said, quietly. He held Greg's hand. "I'm here. This is entirely the right night to discuss it."

Greg composed himself for a second, then continued.

"He was always a bit funny with me. A bit... I don't know. All chummy one second, then the next making digs at me in front of whoever he could. He was just a bit weird. He told me to my face he didn't know how I'd made DI, while he was still kicking around the lower ranks. Told me he was after my job and I should watch my back. Not even part of my division, but undermining me at every turn. D'you - get what I mean?"

"I think I have the measure of him... carry on."

"He was way too friendly with Karen, too. I used to dread bringing her along to staff parties, because Paul would always make a bee-line straight for her. Spend the night talking really loudly to her tits, making dirty jokes… trying to get her to laugh. And I always wondered... Christ, this is so bloody arrogant of me..."

"Say it, Greg…...there's no-one else here."

"I don't think he'd have... if she wasn't _my_ wife... you know?"

Mycroft smiled, understanding entirely. "The gentleman had an envious fixation on you," he said, "and wished to make you aware that he was entirely capable of having whatever you have."

Greg pulled a face, uncomfortable.

"God knows why," he muttered. "M'not... constantly crowing about how amazing I am... just getting on with my life. Trying to make an alright job of things."

Mycroft brushed his thumb gently over Greg's knuckles, soothing him. In truth, he could think of a number of reasons why someone might long to be the brave, well-liked and hard-working Greg Lestrade. It was testament to Greg's character that he couldn't even see it.

"And now this man has hopped rather gleefully into the space that you left," Mycroft said.

Greg grimaced with unease. "That's - the stupid thing, love. He's _welcome_ to it. The second they handed me the decree absolute, I felt like a ten ton weight was lifted from my shoulders. I'm - _free_ again…"

He gripped Mycroft's hand, tightly.

"Free to be with _you._ To get on with our lives. I honestly couldn't give a monkey's about what Karen's doing, or with who. I just..."

He shook his head, slowly.

"Of _all_ the people," he muttered. He met Mycroft's eyes, weary. "I was pretty sure he was sending me dodgy texts at one point."

"'Dodgy texts'...?"

"Unknown number, but… for God's sake, I'm a detective. I figured it out pretty quick. Just - juvenile stuff. Can't even remember half of what he said. Bloody weirdo. Now he's on Facebook, going on about how lucky he is, and how excited he is to spend his life with Karen... a few of our friends have liked it. Left nice comments. I mean, I know _they_ don't know all the grisly details - what she put me through - what he's really like... but still, it's - hard to watch."

He sighed, and shook his head.

"I know I've got no room to complain," he mumbled.

Mycroft had wondered if this was part of it. He laced their fingers, still stroking the back of Greg's hand with a thumb.

"Darling..." he said, gently. "You ended one relationship, and then forged another… the legal ties have now been dissolved. Your new relationship can be allowed to enter the public sphere, and with it your new life can begin. Meanwhile, your ex-wife - "

He watched Greg's mouth relax into a smile, and at once smiled too.

" - has chosen to announce, with some spectacle, that she is continuing her neurotic attachment to you by consorting very publicly with a man who has made no secret of his antagonism towards you. The pair of them deserve each other. And I have no doubt this childish romantic pantomime of theirs shall play out entirely as you're imagining."

Greg broke into a grin; Mycroft's heart drummed happily in his chest at the sight. He rubbed Greg's hand, adoring him from across the backseat.

"I'm sorry this is now transpiring," he said. "It is ludicrous. And I am sorry that some of your friends are unaware of the reality of the situation. But I imagine that, in the fullness of time, the truth of things will come to light."

He paused, smiling, as he lowered his gaze to their joined fingers.

"They - very often do," he said.

Greg slowly squeezed his hand.

"I love you," he said, softly. "I love you to pieces. You know that?"

Mycroft's heart gave a deep, silent sigh. They were almost at the restaurant now. "You're a wonderful person, Greg… a wonderful man. Please never misplace that knowledge."

He lifted Greg's hand up to his mouth.

"As your friend," he said, and kissed it, "I'm very glad that you've ended a poisonous association. As an objective observer, I'm wholly unsurprised that your ex-wife has immediately tried to hurt you by shacking up with a far inferior substitute. And as your lover…"

He kissed Greg's knuckles again slowly, and watched his pupils swell.

"... tonight, I will endeavour to give you everything that we have waited a year for." Mycroft smiled, curling Greg's fingers safely within his own. He pressed his lips once more to the back of Greg's hand. "We have the weekend ahead of us, darling. You have your _whole_ _life_ ahead of you. The world is heaving with people addicted to social drama, and it always will be... but fortunately, there are always pockets of sanity to be found."

Greg's chest expanded, slowly. He seemed to come to a sudden decision.

"Listen," he said, his voice thick. "I… wanted to ask you over dinner..."

He caught the brief flash of panic in Mycroft's eyes, and smiled.

"M'not about to produce a ring," he promised, amused. Mycroft exhaled, relaxing into intense relief. They grinned at each other for a moment, happy, and the car pulled to a stop outside the restaurant. "No, it's… the lease on my flat," said Greg. "It's about to run out, and... I want to move. I mean... the place is tiny, and it's cold, and the more I ignore all this kind of crap from Karen, the more likely she is to start turning up outside again. I've blocked her on everything I can, but she knows my address. I - want a new start. I want to be somewhere that she's never been."

He hesitated, wetting his dry lips, and squeezed Mycroft's hand.

Mycroft's heart had ceased to beat.

"You might not be ready," Greg said. "And if you're not, then - I understand. Honestly. You've been so patient with all this, and… and I wouldn't rush you into something for anything in the world. I mean it, love. But… just in case you _are_ ready…"

He swallowed.

"M'gonna be flat-hunting soon," he said. "As in… _really_ soon. As soon as possible. And… if you wanted to come with me…"

His grip tightened on Mycroft's hand.

"Might be nice," he said. "That's all."

"Greg," Mycroft breathed. He couldn't see anything in the world apart from his lover. It had all gone. It didn't exist; there was only Greg. "Darling, I… I would - "

" - absolutely say no, if… I mean, I won't be - "

" - love to," Mycroft finished, flushing. His heart jolted with excitement, just hearing himself say the words. "I would - very much like to share a home with you, Greg. Truly. Nothing could make me happier."

Greg shuddered, grinning all over his face.

"Christ..." he gasped, in relief. They both laughed, gripping each other's hands, shining with the realisation of what they'd just agreed. "I mean, if you... we could start looking _tomorrow,_ if you were alright with…"

"Tomorrow," Mycroft said, softly. He felt suddenly alight with happiness. It felt like champagne was fizzling and glittering in his soul, as bright as the eyes of the man before him. He wanted to gaze at Greg all night long. He wanted to see fireworks; he wanted to tell the world. "Darling, I… believe we may now have _two_ reasons to celebrate…"

Greg's eyes blazed with happiness.

He reached out, cupped Mycroft's face, and gently pulled him close.

As they strolled into The Davenport five minutes later, hands entwined and smiling from ear-to-ear, the capital's rich and famous turned to stare in amazement over their soup spoons. The two of them talked the whole night long, playing with each other's fingers on the tablecloth, and let the candles lull low.

Three weeks later, they moved into their first home together.

St John's Wood: peaceful and cosy - a master bedroom with space for all of Mycroft's suits, and a private office so he could come home in the evening; a kitchen where Greg could make magic happen; a bath that was big enough for two.

Karen put a passive-aggressive note up on Facebook, expressing astonishment at how quickly some people seemed to move on.

Her ex-husband never read it.

He had better things to do with his life.

 


End file.
